


Sunfall

by Nefaie



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Blood Elves, F/F, Fall of Silvermoon, Fel Magic, Gen, Minor Retcon, Multi, Priests, Sunwell, The Light, Tragedy, Trolls, Warlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 04:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12522636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nefaie/pseuds/Nefaie
Summary: Undergoing re-construction!





	1. Chapter 1

The tall elf planted a kiss on the top of the brilliant red head of his young daughter. The defiant red-head squirmed away from his lips.   

“Papa, you’re always leaving. Why can’t you send someone else to do these things? Why must _you_ be the one to leave Silvermoon? Is this not what we have servants for, Papa? I do not like being left alone! I do not like Vandellor!” the young elf continued to whine.

“ _High Priest_ Vandellor, my Sun,” her father corrected, “and he is the only one qualified to instruct someone of your affinity.”

“I do not  _want_ to follow in the Light, Papa. I want to conjure, just like you!”

Kael’Thas stiffened. “You will follow the Light. I made a promise to your mother. Before she passed she believed with all of her soul that your destiny would be found in the light.” After offering the young princess one more farewell kiss, the Prince of Silvermoon mounted his loyal Alar and set off to the magic city of Dalaran.

She had never seen Dalaran before; her father forbade her to leave Silvermoon until she reached the status of High Priestess. He said the outside world was too dangerous for the Princess of Silvermoon to leave the safety of this sanctuary. Oh how she wished she could journey outside the walls. To Dalaran, to the Sunwell, visit the Humans and see all of the Glory of Azeroth…

With an angry sigh, Nelowyn spun on her heel and stomped off to the direction of her chambers. Citizens stopped to greet the Princess with overwhelming joy. She was just as much their Light as she was to her father. She passed through the bazaar and stopped to greet each shopkeep. Each shopkeep would offer her goods from their wares and she'd accept with her beaming smile.

The bazaar was beautifully extravagant lined with booths and stores and busy as usual. The silken covered booths that lined the perfectly placed stoned pathways light up with beautiful magic. The shopkeeps would put on small displays of decorative magic while advertising their merchandise. The flashier the show, the more people would gather around.

The shops themselves were even more grandiose. True to the Quel'Dorei culture, spires of gold and marble formed the doorways. Silk draped along the front to be used in place of doors. Satutes of great Elven warriors accompanied the spires, beautifully sculpted, forever leaving their mark upon Silvermoon.

Performers danced in the streets creating wild fire magic plays. The joy was contagious, you could not walk the stoned paths and find an elf without a smile upon their face. Nelowyn gleefully skipped to the magic plays and joined in herself. While her mentor had not taught her much, she was still able to call upon the Light to rain radiant light storms above their heads. She laughed as she linked arms with one of the performers and danced together, drawing an even larger crowd.

Lirath smiled to her from the back of the crowd and motioned her to him. She bid her farewells to the growing crowd and bounced off in his direction, happily humming the tunes of the crowd.

"I have a gift for you, Princess," he pulled her hand to his lips and kissed gently. She giggled and held out her hand demandingly. Lirath returned her laugh and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small, flat satin case and opened it up for her to see.

Nelowyn gasped. "Lirath, they are beautiful!" She exclaimed quickly snatching the box from his palm. Upon the velvet pillows laid two small earrings in the shape of gold Naaru. Nelowyn had read many books on the Naaru and hungered for more knowledge of them. She discarded the large, dangling purple crystal earrings to the ground carelessly, and fixed the small Naaru on her ear. She lifted her hair and twirled on the spot as if putting on a display.

"Now come, Nell, Vandellor has sent for you," Lirath said.

Nelowyn pouted and squinted her eyes at Lirath. "Fine, but when I am done, you must promise to take me out on a ride. Outside the city walls!"

"We shall see, Your Majesty," he replied with a wink.

Time passed slowly. Though unhappy, the young Princess Sunstrider diligently followed the lessons given to her by her High Priest mentor. Increasingly often, Vandellor’s star pupil, Lady Liadrin, would attend the lessons and further teach Nelowyn the ways of the Light. Nelowyn was particularly fond of Liadrin; while her father had instructed Vandellor to only teach his daughter protection and healing, Liadrin paid no mind to such orders. At dusk, while Vandellor tended to his High Priest duties, Liadrin would take the fledgling priestess into the near-by forest to teach her how to wield the Light offensively. Nelowyn looked forward to these lessons more than anything.

Despite her protests, Lirath refused to take her out on a ride outside the city walls. He dodged her questions every time she would ask again. Finally, after weeks of pestering him, Lirath agreed that after her father returned, he would take her on the ride she had been begging for.

Kael’Thas’s absence cast a shadow over their brilliant capital city. His contagious charisma noticeably absent through the streets of Silvermoon. He loved his people above all else, but his duties as a council member of Dalaran must be filled. His absences would span months, sometimes years. However, the shadow cast by this absence seemed more ominous; Nelowyn’s dreams haunted every night with images of ice and death… What did those dreams mean?

Screams of agony and pure terror echoed throughout the city. Terrified, Nelowyn quickly rose from her bed and scanned the city outside of her window. Before her was not the beauty of her home, but the beginnings of ruin. The proud walls that once surrounded the city were beginning to crumble. In the distance, she could see that each elfgate was no more. Someone or something had breached the sanctuary.

Without a knock, the doors to the royal suite were thrown open. An elf, no taller than herself, rushed through the doors straight to the Princess with bow in hand, an arrow knocked but pointed at the ground.

“Nel,” the small form breathed, “Nel we have to get out of here. My sister… my sister, she failed. A whole army is headed straight for us, Nel. We have to go, now!”

“What of my grandfather, Lirath?!” Nelowyn wailed.

“Slain,” Lirath uttered with remorse. “The human prince Arthas Menthil has marched an army upon Silvermoon,” he paused, unsure of what words he could use. “Nel… they are not of the living. I… I do not know what they are. For every soldier we lose, their army gains another. We’re… losing. We must go, now!”

Leading her by the hand, Lirath rushed through the halls of Sunstrider Palace. The elves were scrambling about searching for anything that could protect them; searching for whatever belongings they could carry. For many, this would be their end.

Just outside the palace doors, a company of fine Silvermoon City Guardians were waiting for their arrival. Nelowyn was quickly ushered onto her trusty hawkstrider, Sunwalker. Lirath quickly mounted behind her and motioned the hawkstrider forward, kicking twice to encourage the beast to move as fast as it can. He then handed her the reigns and took up his bow once again, arrow nocked and ready to fly.

The company made their way to Sunstrider Isle with haste; while they had not met any of the army of the dead, they would not risk the life of their Princess for a moments rest. The only noise to be heard was the beating of the hawstriders’ gait as they ran, for what could they say? What words of comfort could they offer the young royal in their care as her city falls to ruin behind her?


	2. Chapter Two

The company arrived at Sunstrider isle without trouble. Before Sunwalker could come to a stop, Lirath launched himself from the back of the bird in the direction of the docks. The Silvermoon City Guardians directed their mounts to form a tight perimeter around their Princess, following behind Lirath. Though the army of the dead showed no signs of making it this far, the Guardians were taking no changes with the young royal.

“I, Lirath Windrunner, have temporarily taken the mantle of Ranger General of Silvermoon. Sylvanas Windrunner has been slain,” he began. “As we speak now an army of the undead is razing our once glorious city. There is little time to spare. Gather what resources you can carry onto as few boats as manageable; burn the rest. We must not leave behind a vessel. Set sail for Quel’Danas. Send a message to Kael’Thas with upmost urgency; tell him the young princess is safe. Tell him...” He paused, searching for the right words to use. “Tell him that King Anasterian Sunstrider fell nobly in battle.” Lirath finished with a grimace.

With his final words, the docks broke into chaos. Peace had become the only thing many of these elves knew. To hear of Silvermoon breached? Impossible, or so they all believed. Lirath tried to calm the panicked herd to no avail.

A tall elf with shoulder length black hair pulled behind his ears grabbed Lirath forcefully, shaking him. “What about my family, what about their families, what about the rest of our people?” the elf demanded of the Ranger General.

“Excuse me.” a small voice chimed. Nelowyn dismounted her Sunwalker and approached the elf who berated her lover. Her guards made no move to stop her. She laid her small, dainty, hands upon the tall black haired elf and asked, “What is your name, Elf?”

The black haired elf snapped his head toward the new voice and froze. “My Princess, I am so sorry for my rudeness,” he stuttered.

The gentle glow of her violet eyes rested upon his face, and she removed his hands from Lirath, cupping them both in her tiny hands. “Please, tell me your name.”

“Aeldon Sunbrand, your Grace.”

“Sunbrand, do you have any belongings of your loved ones? Something with their scent?”

Aeldon nodded. “My daughter, she comes to play here often. She leaves me with her toy dragonhawk, to keep me safe she says.” he smiled bitterly.

“Bring it to me,” Nelowyn requested. After a moment Aeldon returned with a small dragonhawk plush and handed it to the young royal. Nelowyn took it gently and walked over to Sunwalker. She wrapped her arms around his thin neck and nuzzled her cheek into his feathers. “My Sunwalker, take this. Find this girl and her family and take her to safety.” She hugged the hawkstrider tighter. “Please, my Sunwalker, return to me safely.”

Aeldon fell to his knees in reverence for the young royal. “Thank you, your grace, thank you. I did not expect such a selfless act. Please, forgive me for all my earlier rudeness.” Nelowyn did not spare him a glance nor a word. She continued to follow Sunwalker with her eyes until he was no longer visible.

Barely audible sobs escaped her lips. Lirath simply pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair, both understanding what fate may befall her beloved hawkstrider.

Not wanting to disturb them any further, Aeldon set off to assist in preparing the boats. The supplies and most of the workers fit on one boat. Another boat would be prepared for the rest and a third for the royal and her entourage.

“Nordrassil..” Lirath began singling and humming loud enough for just Nelowyn to hear. “Quel’Dorei.. Nordrassil.. Elune Adore, Elune Adore.. Nordrassil.. Elune… Adore…” His voice calmed her and her sobs slowly became little hiccups. Lirath continued to hum and sing softly as he led her onto the boat. The Lament of the Highborne was not a song sung by their people any longer, but Prince Kael had once told Lirath that Nelowyn’s mother had been a Priestess of Elune before the fall of Zin’Azshari, and would sing her to sleep with the ancient song. Lirath had learned the lyrics of the Lament from his sister, Sylvanas; she would sing the song to him when he was very young.

“Is there really nothing more we can do, Lirath?” the Princess asked in horror. “They are our people… they are all going to die. Grandfather is dead. Father is in Dalaran, three days flight from Silvermoon. I am the only Sunstrider blood here.”

“I am sorry, Princess, there is nothing any of us can do. We live another day; it is the best we can do.” They boarded their ship and Nelowyn watched as the archers nocked their fire arrows, flying them onto the barrels of gunpowder that had been loaded on the remaining boats. The explosion was instant and the fire spread quickly. Satisfied, Lirath headed to the helm of the ship to check their course. Nelowyn lingered behind, unable to tear her eyes away from the burning shoreline.

Nelowyn squinted off into the distance and froze. Just over the horizon, she could see the man who wrought destruction upon her people. Arthas Menethil, clad in blue, frosty, armor from head to toe marched his army proudly toward the shoreline. His steed was only a shadow of which a mare should be. Waves of frost floated loftily off the horse without skin. There were no muscles to move the animated bones, no lips to cover its nightmarish muzzle. The army that followed behind him was at varying stages of decay, some were rotted to nothing with their flesh hanging loosely. Many had missing limbs, some could no longer be distinguished as humanoid. Above the army, four ghostly forms lingered above, all of them obviously elven women. One of the ghosts struck her as oddly familiar, but she dismissed the thought. She couldn’t bear to know the fate that was brought upon her people.

Lirath put his hand on her shoulder with a scowl. “I did not think them so close.”

“The ships? Are they salvageable?” Nelowyn inquired with a panic.

“No,” he responded. “Please, go inside Princess. Do not worry yourself.”

“But Lirath, those ghosts. They are Quel’Dorei!”

“And there is nothing we can do for them, Princess.”

The young princess stayed quiet for the rest of the journey. The army of the undead quickly faded from their view as they ventured further into the ocean toward Quel’Danas. She watched the waves roll against the boat mournfully. She had longed for a reason, any reason, to find herself on an adventure outside of the city walls, but never had she imagined this. Anger welled up inside of her.

_I could have fought. Father should have been here to fight. If only he had let me learn conjuring. Why is he not here in our hour of greatest need? The Light has done NOTHING for us this day. Why should I dedicate myself to a force that will not reciprocate? Instead, I run. Cowering in fear as my home is destroyed. Mark my words, Lich King, I will see the end of your days. Mark my words, Father, I shall never cower again. I will fight. You cannot hold me back forever._

The boats docked at Quel’Danas, and never had Nelowyn seen something so beautiful. The island was lush with herbs and planets she had only ever read about. Dragonhawks flew freely in the skies; hawkstriders chased one another across the fields. In the distance, Nelowyn could see Magisters’ Terrace. True to the grandiose nature of her people, the gates of the Terrace were lined with glittering jewels. Stained glass lined the highest floors of Magisters’ Terrace depicting scenes of magic and beautiful elves. Far atop the Terrace sat strange lenses pointed at the sky. When she asked Lirath what they were, he called them telescopes; to look at the stars.

To the west, her eyes landed on Sunwell Plateau. Emotion washed over the young royal. Though the Plateau was much plainer than the Terrace, it was so much more than just beautiful. Her heart itself reached out to be one with the Sunwell. Its warm radiance enveloped her. The ambiance of the isle faded into nothing as she embraced the Sunwell’s glory. For this moment, only she and the Sunwell existed.

Her legs moved of their own will in the direction of the Sunwell. Lirath’s hand caught her elbow and the illusion was shattered. “It’s a lot to take in, careful not to let it cloud your mind. Your affinity is high even by eleven standards; I’m not sure what being so close to the well would do to you.”

“I am quite dizzy. I would like to lay down.” Lirath led her to the living quarters of Quel’Danas, where her family often stayed when visiting the well. The room was similar to her own. Blue and purple silk decorated the walls, as well as the bed. A walk-in closet lined an entire wall of the suite, filled to the brim with beautiful elven ware. Nelowyn welcomed the familiarity. She chose a simple red and purple silk bed robe and laid down.

“Lirath?”

“Yes, Princess?”

“Stay with me, Lirath, do not leave my side.”

The Ranger General paused for a moment before giving her a soft smile. “I will return before you even realize that I am gone. I must take care of a few tasks and I shall not leave your side thereafter.” Nelowyn scowled but gave a curt nod before she nestled into the bed.

“So be it.” Sleep quickly overtook her. Before falling asleep, the last thing she could remember was the Sunwell reaching out to embrace her once more. Exhausted, she returned the embrace without hesitation. Sweet thoughts flowed through her mind and floated off into the dreams of the Sunwell.

Screams and chaos once again pulled the young royal out of her slumber. This time she did not wait for Lirath to come to her aide. Fury gripped her heart as she dashed out of her quarters. The scenery before her was just as she feared. The undead had made their way to this sacred isle of Quel’Danas.

Nelowyn raced toward the tree lines and gathered her courage. With a battle cry of nothing more than a squeak, the priestess called upon her training with Liadrin to rain Holy Fire upon the undead. Her aim was sporadic and her potency left much to be desired, but it was working. The undead were unorganized – mindless; her attacks easily hit many of the mindless at once. Feeling confidence flow into her, she began to increase the rate of which she cast upon them.

Her victory was short lived; she had drawn the attention of the Lich King himself. Fear instantly replaced all the confidence she had gained and stumbled backwards. A haunting laugh came from behind the full helm covering his face. Cold started creeping into her fingers and toes and spread rapidly. She tried in in vain to call the Holy Fire once again, but she had felt nothing. No light, no warmth, no magic, everything was gone.

_Is this my end?_

A sharp whistle passed her ear and an elven arrow found itself deeply embedded in the small opening of the Lich King’s armor. Nelowyn crawled across the ground as a volley of arrows continued to batter the invader. She searched desperately for the source of the arrows and her eyes found none other than Lirath Windrunner. Hope sprang in her chest once again as she rolled out of the path of the arrows, got to her feet and sprinted in the direction of her savior.

Lirath ran in her direction, still relentlessly assaulting the dark human with his volley. Having had enough of the onslaught, the Lich King froze the oncoming arrows, and each arrow after until the ice had formed a perfect bridge to Lirath’s bow. He cursed and discarded it, favoring two short swords.

“Go. NOW!” Lirath demanded, but Nelowyn shook her head and stood once more for battle.

“I will not run again. I will not leave you!”

Aggravated, Lirath knocked her knees out from under her and took off into a sprint. The Lich King did not run; he walked casually at them, yet somehow his walk seemed faster than a run.

The pair reached the dragonhawk stables, many of the beasts had already scattered in fear, save one brave hawk. Lirath cursed once again and tossed the Princess onto the saddle roughly and strapped her waist in. The frost from the Lich King already seeping through the stables as he approached. “The back,” he whispered and lead the dragonhawk behind the rear exit. The stables behind them began to crumble from the weight of the ice.

“Go, my love,” Lirath whispered sadly. “Survive. Live!” He planted a quick kiss on his love’s lips and violently slapped the tail end of the dragonhawk. The dragonhawk took to the skies in a panic.

“Lirath, no, please!” She called out as the distance between them increased. The Lich King had already arrived. Lirath readied his short swords to take on the invading human prince, but they were quickly discarded by Arthas. As Quel’Danas left her view, Nelowyn watched in horror as the butcher cleaved her love’s head from his body. With that, the young Princess lost consciousness.


	3. Chapter Three

The dragonhawk continued to fly without destination. The vast ocean continued on without end. Nelowyn didn’t know how long or how far the dragonhawk had flown; she only knew it had been long enough to watch as lethargy began to weigh the hawk down. Sea is all that met them in every direction. There was no land in the far distances to even hope to land on.  
Nelowyn had been in and out of consciousness since her ride first began. Grief tore at every fiber of her being; nothing could wash away the savage image of Arthas severing the head of her intended. Lirath had been there every day of her life: guiding her, befriending her, protecting her and finally sworn to betroth her. The thought of moving forward without him left Nelowyn feeling empty beyond words. Every time she closed her eyes she’d relive his death; every time she opened her eyes she relived the realization that Lirath was no longer of this world.

She stroked the scaly mane of the dragonhawk as its wings grew heavier with each beat. The beast struggled to no avail to maintain altitude. The hawk was dying. "Nordrassil..” she soothed the dying dragonhawk. “Quel’Dorei.. Nordrassil.. Elune Adore, Elune Adore.. Nordrassil.. Elune… Adore… it is okay, here we may meet our end together.” She continued to stroke the dragonhawk until the final beat of its wings. The pair dropped into a free fall. The sea quickly approached, and with it, three barely visible plots of land. Nephelle laughed bitterly and closed her eyes; she imagined the end of the fall would land her in Lirath’s arms once again.

******

Ajia'vi preferred to venture to the Echo Isles to train; her people spent much of their time on the mainland negotiating their terms of joining the Horde, so the isles were usually quiet at high sun. Though lauded as a genius, Ajia'vi never gave up a chance to further hone her skills in the arcane. One could find her every day at high sun pushing her knowledge further.

Arcane magic ebbed and flowed around Ajia'vi as if she were the magic itself. It caressed her being as she brought nothingness into existence. Most of all, she loved to create small star systems around her. Conjuring a likeness of the moon was her favorite but also the most difficult.

Ajia'vi cast her eyes to the sky, pondering on whether she should attempt another likeness of the sun. Her last attempt ended flawlessly… besides the unfortunate orc that stared for too long. She began to bend the magic to her will when something caught her attention from the skies. Something was plummeting toward the small isles at an alarming speed; upon further inspection, she realized that it was in fact a person.

The mage cast all of her concentration on the descending stranger, weaving together a long range slow fall. Though she could not maintain it for more than a moment, she believed she had slowed them enough to survive the crash. Hopefully. Using the positioning of the sun, the young genius was able to calculate approximately where the visitor would land; she calmly set out to the location to offer aid.

The sight shook Ajia'vi’s calm for a moment. Before her were two creatures, mangled together. Ajia'vi questioned whether her slow fall had been enough as she approached the dying pair. It was an elf, and with her some strange… bird? The bird’s head had folded beneath itself; there would be no saving it. Fearing the elf had met a similar fate, Ajia'vi continued her approach. The elf laid broken, her limbs at unnatural angles, blood pooling behind her fiery red hair, and her body bent even more unnaturally over the broken bird, yet her eyes remained wide open.

Her violet eyes did not glow as Ajia'vi believed they should. The mage tenderly stroked the cheek of the broken elf, willing her magic to flow into her. Her eye lids fluttered for a moment, “Tal…o Tal’o. Ann’da Ama’o.” She wheezed and gurgled. Every breath came labored and harsh. Blood was oozing from her ears and nose, and between wheezes, she’d cough blood.

“Do ya’ speak Common, elf?” Ajia was greeted with the elf’s incoherent chanting in a language she did not understand. She realized the broken elf before her was not much longer for this world. Inspired by her will to save this stranger, the mage began to bend the arcane in a way that the magic was unsuited for. The magic resisted her and rebelled, but she continued to force it to her will.

She lifted the elf from the bird gently and set her down a few feet away. She moved the unnatural limbs into straight positions as she tried to conjure repairs; she was met by a chorus of screams from the broken elf. Ajia'vi cringed as she set all the limbs straight, hoping to cause as little pain to the girl as possible but knowing that was not possible.

In the final act of rebellion, the arcane singed her fingertips and ebbed away. Slightly irritated, the mage once again reached for the magic only to find an unfamiliar one. The magic caressed her in a way the arcane never had; instead of bending to her will, it believed in her will. Warmth flowed through her body as she touched this unimaginable power. Instinctively, she gestured the magic over to the dying elf and the magic did the rest. Ajia'vi glowed a soft aura of green as some of the elf’s more gruesome wounds began to heal.

The elf’s spine gave a sickening snap as it straightened back into place; the elf gulped air into her lungs hungrily. The feat had already left the troll exhausted and unable to continue the hold she had on the foreign magic; as it left her, it left an empty feeling within her. A drop of sweat she did not realize was there stung her eye.

Ajia'vi turned to the nearby shore and cupped water in her hands to splash on her face, but she caught a sight that made her freeze. In the tiny pool of water in her hands, pure white eyes stared back at her. She cast the water aside and looked straight into the sea, but this time her own sunset eyes stared back. Behind her the elf began to stir once again only to find herself writhing in pain. Ajia'vi had healed her most serious injuries, but it seemed as though the elf was not out of danger yet.

“I sorry I be doin’ dis to ya,” Prithivi whispered as she gathered the elf in her arms. One final wail left the elf before she went limp. “I be takin’ ya to da troll camp, to Vol’jin. He be about getting’ ya home.”

The mage arrived at the troll camps shortly after. She made her way to the largest tent, ignoring the glances from her fellow trolls. Though their faction of trolls had quashed their quarrel with the elves, they weren’t inviting them over for a good hunt anytime soon; seeing one in their encampment brought an air of unease.

“Enta,” a gravelly voice called before Prithivi could even announce her arrival. She smiled and pulled aside the hide of tent and let herself in. The inside of the tent was humble, a few animal hides, a table with two chairs and a scouting map sitting atop, and finally, a larger chair made of softened hide for the leader of the trolls to sit upon. “What is dis you be bringin’ to me, Pridavi?”

“Vol’jin,” Prithivi nodded. “I found dis here elf. She come crashin’ outta da skies into da Echo Isles. Da bird she flew in on be dead. She almost be dead.”

“Call in a heala,” Vol’jin said to one of the other trolls in the tent. “Da rest of you, outta here.” Vol’jin waited for the rest to leave before turning to Prithivi once again. “Pridavi, dees not be fresh wounds, what happened on da isles?”

Prithivi stiffened. “I don’t know.”

Vol’jin eyes bore into Prithivi. “Explain”

“Da arcane stopped answa-in’. I was determined to save da poor girl. When I reached for da arcane again, anotha type of magic answa’d me. I don’t know what it was, but it healed her. Left me more exhausted dan I eva felt.”

Vol’jin didn’t answer. He ushered the shaman healer into his tent and ordered they begin mending the young elf. The shaman cast a side glance at Vol’jin but said nothing. The shaman set to work. Water ran along her body, and in its wake, left perfection. The elf’s skin had returned to a pale shade of peach, water ran clean her blood matted hair, her unnaturally angled limbs began to correct themselves and all evidence of injury was washed away.

“She wake up soon, Vol’Jin. She best be gone den; I be havin’a bad feelin’ about her presence here.” The shaman left the tent and Vol’jin shrugged off her comments.

“We be havin’ no place to send da girl. I ain’t sendin’ her out dere. Send word to Silvermoon. I be sure someone willin’ to claim her.” Prithivi nodded and left the tent.


	4. Chapter 4

Nephelle once again found herself in the middle of an invasion. The undead descended upon her camp, scattering the near-by civilians. Nephelle once again found herself completely powerless to stand up to the rotting corpses; no matter how relentlessly she rained holy fire upon them, another would quickly take its place. Familiar faces littered the crowd of the undead, but she refused to admit it was true.

The undead closed in on her; rotting arms grabbed her from every direction. They tore her skin, ripped her hair, devoured her ears and plucked her eyes and still she continued to fight. Her stamina quickly depleted as the cannibalistic attackers continued their onslaught. She screamed for help but none answered her call. She cried out for Lirath at the top of her lungs, wondering where her love had gone.

Suddenly the undead halted all movement. From the back of the endless sea of bodies, they began to part. A strange figure upon a rotting stead slowly ambled toward her. The figure was tall, slender and… wearing elven armor, holding his own head against his hip. It couldn’t be…

“Wake!” A harsh voice demanded, followed by a hearty slap, snapping Nephelle’s head to the side and waking her from her slumber. Her eyes danced around the room wildly. Her eyes fell upon the entrance to the tent and sprang out of her make shift bed. She flung herself through the opening and surveyed her surroundings. No undead in sight, but no Lirath either..

“Just dream, elf. Name Vol’jin,” the tall figure pointed to himself as he walked through the tent behind her speaking in broken Thalassian. “Here Orgrimmar. Orc Home. No place for elf. Back inside. No kill. Speak Common?”

“I do not,” She answered in Thalassian following. “Vol’jin..? The leader of the Darkspear Trolls?”

The troll nodded. “We send word Silvermoon. Been a week. No response. Who you?”

Tears sprang to her eyes threatening to fall over, but she blinked them back. “There will be no response from Silvermoon. Silvermoon City, along with all of my people, was utterly destroyed.” She paused for a moment, decided to trust the troll. “Perhaps Dalaran.” The troll nodded again and gestured to another troll and spoke to her in a guttural language, shortly after, she left the tent. “Thank you, troll, for saving my life.”

“Not me. Pri-tha-vee.” He exaggerated each sound. “She watch whole time. Make you safe. Kind heart. No speak elf language.” He gestured to the troll that had just left the tent. His eyes bore holes into her. “Now. You who?”

  
“My name?” she asked. Vol’jin nodded. “Nephelle… Sunstrider. Princess.. Former Princess of Silvermoon City.” She choked.

Vol’jin let out a barking laugh. “Kael difficult,” he continued to laugh. Briefly blinded by her anger, Nephelle reached out to the light ready to make the troll take back his words, but to her dismay, there was nothing there to reach out to. She tried again, desperately groping for the Light, but still, nothing was there. She began to panic. Deep in her stomach panged a hunger she did not recognize. Anxiety gripped her, constricting her ability to breathe.

“So it really is you, Princess.” A female voice broke her anxious haze. The woman threw her arms around Nephelle from behind before she had a chance to turn, squeezing her in a tight embrace. Golden blonde hair fell in front of her shoulders, and then she knew.

Nephelle began to sob uncontrollably. “Auntie Jaina,” she wailed and squirmed around to return the mage’s embrace.

Jaina was crying as well, stroking the young princess’s hair. “We thought you lost! You weren’t among the survivors. No one had seen you. No one had seen your guardsmen. We..” she paused, unsure of whether to tell the girl. “When we found Sunwalker.. Sunwalker.. he saved a little girl. We thought her dead, but Sunwalker shielded the poor girl with his own life. He died a hero, Princess.”

Nephelle looked away. She knew what fate she had sent Sunwalker into, but she never lost hope in her heart she’d see her beloved companion once again. Her tears flowed freely as grief cast a tighter grip upon her heart. She had been so powerless to save anyone, and her loved ones paid the blood toll.

“Come, I’m returning you to Dalaran while our mages locate your father to let him know you survived. There are still many of your people alive, Princess.” Jaina looked the grieving child in the eyes. “You have a home to return to.”

Nephelle sniffed and rolled her shoulders back. “I would like to thank the troll who saved my life… personally.”

Vol’jin shook his head. “Gone.”

“Then I shall go to-“

“WHERE. IS. SHE?!” Without hesitation, Nephelle sprinted from the tent. She ran as fast as she could, stumbling a few times on her way, her tears burning her eyes making it hard to see. None of that mattered, all that mattered was that voice. “WHERE. IS. MY. DAUGHTER?!”

“HERE!” Nephelle screamed in the direction of her father’s voice. She rounded the corner of the tents where her father came into view. He was causing chaos at the gates of the troll encampment, but he did not care. Kael’thas’ head swiveled, searching for the origins of the voice when his eyes landed on Nephelle. Nephelle’s jaw dropped. Her father was haggard, his golden hair disheveled and his regal clothing tattered and torn. In her exasperation, Nephelle fell to the ground once again. This time, she found herself too weak to pull herself up.

Kael’thas rushed over to her and collected her in his arms, holding her close. “My Sun, I thought you dead.” The tall blonde cried as he kissed the top of her head repeatedly. “Never again, never again, never again.”

“Kael!” Jaina called from behind as she approached the pair.

“Proudmoore,” Kael spat back. “What is my daughter doing in a place like this,” he hissed.

“Kael, I..”

“Save it. You let the butcher sleep in your bed. Now lie in it,” Kael snapped at the mage, jealousy coloring his voice.

“Papa…” Nephelle began, gaining her father’s full attention. “Auntie Jaina knows loss, too.” She declared. Kael stared at his daughter, mouth agape. “You were not there, Papa. You do not understand the horror. The Lich King marched upon our city without mercy; he no longer had any thoughts of whose bed he may have occupied. He razed our city before my eyes, as I sat there and did naught but cry. He chased Lirath,” she choked on his name. “He chased me all the way to the Sunwell, a sight I had never seen before. Before my eyes he destroyed it all. Before my eyes he beheaded my intended. Before my eyes, our slain brethren rose once again to turn their swords against me. Lirath, he… threw me on a dragonhawk as the butcher took his life as I did naught but cry once more. I road upon the dragonhawk without destination and fully accepted my fate to die, but these trolls saved my life. Do not presume you have come to save me and point your finger at any other than yourself,” she said as angry tears sprang to her eyes.

Kael’thas stood there, stunned. Jaina turned away, ashamed. “Lirath was a good man,” Kael finally said. “My Sun, you’re right. Were I there, I could have saved our people. I will not fail you twice, my Sun. I shall hunt the butcher to the ends of the earth and make him pay,” he promised.

“I wish to go home, or rather, what is left of it.” Nephelle demanded.

Kael shifted nervously, unable to meet his daughter’s eyes. “I shall have you sent home where Lord Theron shall be awaiting your arrival.”

“Send?”

“My Sun, for our people I must-“

“Save it,” she recalled her father’s words. “Auntie Jaina, will you see me home? As the moments pass, I grow more tired.”

“The Sunwell is gone,” Kael sputtered. “And with it, our magic, but I swear you you, my Sun, I will restore magic to our people. It is our birth right.”

Nephelle froze. “Gone?” She thought back to moments before when she couldn’t feel anything as she reached for the Light. “What is to become of us without magic?”

“I don’t know, but we will not wait long enough to find out. I have… leads.”

“Let’s get you home, Princess,” Jaina interjected. “Take my hand and we’ll be in Silvermoon shortly.” Kael set the young Princess to her feet and turned away, whistling for Alar. Nephelle took Jaina’s hand and the mage teleported them across the vast ocean.

The pair arrived just inside the ruined gates of the city. The proud spires of the walls were no more than dirt and rubble now. The woods surrounding the city were drenched in rot and harbored no life. Many make-shift hostels lined the roads of their once glorious city. The city was eerie as not many Elves survived the destruction and those that were left had lost all will to move on. Not a soul came to greet the Princess as she and Jaina headed toward where the palace once stood. Their eyes cast away, their haunted faces refusing to look up, she wondered if some of them even knew she was there.

She continued her approach to the palace when her heart threatened to jump from her chest. The palace seemed mostly untouched; only a few of the tall spires crumbled into nothing. A thin veil of silk draped across the doorway just as she remembered. The satin and silk furnishings of the grand room still lined the beautiful marble walls, untainted by the filth of the undead. The statues of proud warriors of the past still lined the silken walkway of the entrance; however, two new statues graced the display.

Nephelle pulled away from her companion and wandered to the newest additions. Her hand flew to her mouth in an attempt to suppress the sob leaping from her chest. She threw herself at the feet of the statue and cried out in anger. “It does not even look like him!” She screeched. “Why does it not look like him,” she continued to yell as she pounded her fists on the statue honoring her fallen lover.

“My apologies, Princess, this statue was erected without the use of magic, a challenge our kind has not had to overcome before,” a voice answered.

“I want this… monstrosity ERADICATED!” She screeched again, tossing a bouquet of flowers left at the statue at the direction of the voice. She turned around to meet face to face with Lor'themar Theron. “Now,” she emphasized before turning to the direction of her quarters, where she waved off any servants who attempted to follow. She entered her room and slammed the door behind her, and turned to face the mirror that spanned half of the wall. Her face was hallowed, her eyes were dull, her hair no longer the color of fire, maybe something more like a carrot.

Sher reached her hand to her ear, delicately admiring Lirath’s last gift to her. “Lirath,” she began. “I swear to you I will cry no longer. I swear to you I will be someone worth leading our people. I swear to you I will carry out every one of your hopes and dreams. I swear to you, on my life and on your name, that I will have the Lich King’s head, and on that day, all will know the name Lirath Windrunner as the man who gave his life for the savior of Azeroth.”


	5. Chapter Five

A soft knock echoed into her bedroom. “Princess, may I enter?”

“Identify yourself,” Nephelle snapped.

“Eiliana Windsong. I served… briefly, under Lirath Windrunner. I have something you might be interested in.”

Nephelle flew to the door and threw it open, slamming it against the walls. She grabbed onto Eiliana and shook her; a crazed look overtaking her face. “Tell me. What do you have for me?”

Eiliana grabbed the young princess’s hands and pushed them back to her. “My men finished cleaning up the carnage of Quel’Danas. We salvaged what supplies we could.” Eiliana rolled her shoulders and the bow she had been carrying slid down her arm; she expertly twirled it into her hands and presented it to Nephelle. “They were able to recover young Windrunner’s bow. I was told you were his lover.”

Nephelle greedily snatched the bow from the girl’s hand and held it to her chest. “Can you show me how to use this?” she asked.

“That is a Windrunner bow, Princess, not just anyone can wield it.”

“I am not ‘just anyone’, now am I? Follow me.” Nephelle lead the Eiliana down the grand staircase back into the main entrance. They passed through the silken drapes where she stopped in front of the monstrosity they claimed to be her love. “I have seen what Lirath can do with this. I want this destroyed. I would like to be the one to destroy it.”

Eiliana sighed, “Ready the bow, yes, good like that. Straighten your shoulders, pull this shoulder up, use your chin as an anchor.” Eiliana grabbed Nephelle in various places, moving her body into a proper stance.

“Will you not bring me any arrows, then?” the Princess inquired.

“There are no arrows to this bow, Princess. Drawing the bow would create the arrows; that is a Windrunner bow. The bow uses magic.” She finished sadly.

“Then this should be simple, no? My affinity is higher than that of any Windrunner. Magic comes as easily as breathing.” Nephelle scoffed.

Eiliana shifted uncomfortably. “Has no one told you the fate of the sunwell, Princess? Surely your father explained to you…”

“My father does nothing more than coddle me. Tell me. Is this why I reach for the Light and heed no answer?”

Eiliana nodded and began to explain the loss of the sunwell. Throughout, Nephelle’s expression became darker and filled with understanding. Her people could no longer use magic. It had been taken from them from the very man who had taken her Lirath. Eiliana explained that without magic, their people were suffering. A hunger set in after the loss of the Sunwell that can only be sated with magic. Some elves have resorted to draining the magic of other living beings and others were not so lucky.

“Wretched?” Nephelle asked incredulously.

“Yes, that is what we are calling those who fall into madness beyond our reach. Their bodies are barely more than skin and bone. Their complexion fades to a dusky gray; they lose all memories and turn into monsters who only live to drain the magic of other beings. Many have taken their own life before becoming wretched.”

“It is happening to me as well, then.” She stated. “How long?”

“With an affinity such as yours, Princess, I am left to wonder how you are not already wretched. Those with a higher affinity for magic go first. All of our best Arch Mages have fallen to madness. Our numbers continue to dwindle. Before long, the Sin’dorei will no longer exist.”

“Sin’Dorei?”

“Blood Elves. We only live by the blood of those we lost.” Eiliana said proudly. “And live on we shall.”

“Lady Sunstrider.” Lor'themar approached the pair. “Your father requests your presence outside the city. Come, he said the matter is urgent.” Nephelle nodded and followed. Lor’themar led her back into the palace and continued on to the throne room. There was no longer a throne adorning the chambers, now stood a strange green portal with two elves channeling from it.

“Theron, if we cannot use magic, how are these elves opening this portal?” Nephelle inquired.

“Your father has asked me to allow him to explain it to you.” He responded. “Now, through the portal you go. Kael will be awaiting you on the other side.”

Nephelle hesitantly stepped through the portal and found herself far, far away from home. The skies were dark, chunks of the land itself adorned the skies as if they were the stars. Out into the distance Nephelle could see where the lands ended and the nothingness began. The land itself was shattered and between each island laid more nothingness. Unfamiliar moons floated far beyond in the stretch of nothingness. Nothing about these strange lands was beautiful; she felt nothing more than death surrounding her.

“My Sun,” Kael’thas’ words broke her from her haze. “I’m glad you have made it here safely. I have discovered the means to save our people from our addiction to magic! For my failures, I am able to save our people. I am able to save you.”

“Papa… what is going on? Where are we?”

“This desolate planet is called Outlands. Pay it no mind, we will not keep you here long. Master Illidan has already prepared the ritual.”

“Master?” she probed. “What is the great King of Silvermoon doing calling anyone master?”

“Because he is our savior! Without him solving our magic addiction would be impossible. Only Master Illidan knows the way.” Nephelle eyed her father wearily. “Trust me, my Sun.”

“So this is your pup, Kael,” A deep gravelly voice surprised Nephelle. “She looks as though she is moments from becoming wretched, why have you waited so long to bring her here,” the voice demanded. She turned around to see the owner of the voice and became paralyzed. Before her stood a monster. The figure’s skin was a deep shade of purple, green, jagged tattoos decorated his chest and arms, horns protruded from his forehead and reached for the sky, bat-like wings folded against his back roughly and though every part of his body screamed Demon, the man was an elf.

“Yes Master Illidan, she is mine. I could not risk trying something untested on my own precious daughter. Do not suggest such foolery.”

Illidan let out a barking laugh. “A few successes among many failures has gained your confidence, then?”

Kael nodded enthusiastically. “With this… with this she will be more powerful than ever before. The Burning Legion won’t hold a candle to her prowess. If anyone can handle this, my Sun can.” He ushered Nephelle forward with haste and excitement. “Quickly, quickly, if you believe she is to become wretched soon we have no time to waste.”

“W-what are you going to do to me?” Nephelle asked.

“Trust me, my Sun. This ritual will grant your body an endless source of magic, no longer dependent on the well! Master Illidan is Kal’dorei. His people have experienced this addiction as does ours. He has shown me the way to save our people.” Kael was shaking with excitement.

Illidan held out his hand to the girl. “It hurts, but only for a moment. You will feel no different than when the Sunwell fueled your power. I am simply “creating” a well of your own inside of you. Will you trust me?”

Nephelle glanced at her father once again. His face was bright and comforting. She had not seen a smile so bright since the fall. She nodded her head and took Illidan’s hand. “I will.”

“Good. Let your salvation begin.”

Illidan led Nephelle over to a floating green crystal. The crystal was very plain and sported an ominous glow. Her skin crawled as she reached for the crystal but decided to trust her father. She pressed her palm to the crystal and waited. An elf behind her began chanting in a language she did not recognize and a warm feeling began to stir in her gut. Her palm was glued to the crystal and the warmth quickly turned into scalding hot.

As her body grew hotter and hotter the pain became unbearable and she began to scream. The heat spread all throughout her body and felt as though it were melting her from within. She struggled to pull her hand from the crystal in a desperate attempt to ease the pain. Her vision flashed green as she wrenched her hand off the crystal and fell backwards, her chest heaving.

“I was not prepared for such a marvelous feat! The girl, she drained the whole crystal. By the Gods this frail little girl might become the most powerful existence in all of The Great Dark Beyond,” Illidan boasted with a booming laugh. “Tell me, child, do you feel the raw power coursing through your veins?”

Dazed and confused, Nephelle scanned her surroundings. The elf that had been chanting during the ritual laid on the ground, motionless. Green ooze seeped from his ears and nose; his eyes open with terror etched on his face. She studied the elf and realized that this elf was dead.

“W-wh-what happened to him?” She pointed at the fallen chanter.

Kael shrugged, “He could not keep up. He was weak,” he replied simply. He walked over to his daughter and pulled her into a tight hug. “You had me frightened for a moment, my Sun, your screams haunt me. You siphoned from the crystal for hours when it should have taken mere moments.”

  
Nephelle grimaced and rubbed her arms. “Was this worth the death of one of our own?”

“He knew what he was sacrificing. He was willing to sacrifice anything to bring an end to The Burning Legion,” Illidan interjected.

“The Burning Legion?”

“The Burning Legion is as it sounds, child. Their goal is to set the entire Great Dark Beyond ablaze. They wish to destroy all life and inflict as much suffering to their hearts content. This desolate world, Outlands, was one of their most recent victims. You see, this land was once called by another name. This land was once lush and beautiful; all living things flourished in this land rich with magic. This is what The Legion has done, and this is what The Legion plans to do to Azeroth.”

Nephelle gasped and cast her eyes to her surroundings once again. The world was desolate, as he said, and she imagined Azeroth in the same light. She cringed and hugged herself. “I do not wish to see this fate befall Azeroth,” she said.

“Good! Now embrace your new magic,” Illidan encouraged. “Embrace your new power!”

She nodded and reached for the Light only to find herself reaching into nothingness. Panic cast a shadow upon her face as she continued to grasp desperately for the Light. “I feel no different. I feel no magic. I reach and nothing responds,” she said sadly.

“What a shame,” Illidan turned to Kael’thas. “Take her home. I want her out of my sight.”

“Yes Master Illidan. Come, my Sun, let us return you home.”

“And that is it!? You will cast me aside after one of my people sacrificed their life for this?” She demanded.

“I have no use for failed experiments,” he retorted.

Nephelle glared daggers into him, but turned on her heel and stopped right before the portal. She turned back to face her father who was ready to follow behind her. “Stay. I do not know what you are trying to accomplish here, but do not involve Silvermoon any further, papa. Please, denounce your new master and return home as the King of Silvermoon, not some demon's dog.”

“As you wish, my Sun but trust in your papa. I am doing what is best for our people and I shall prove it to you,” Kael responded.

“Very well.” She stepped through the portal and the desolate world behind her faded. She was greeted by the familiar décor of the throne room. Relieved that she was once again home, her legs gave out from under her and she collapsed in a heap. Handmaids rushed to her side but she waved them off. “Theron. Bring me Theron,” she demanded of them. The heard of handmaids scattered and searched for Lor’Themar.

“Princess, I hear you wish to see me.” Lor’themar entered the throne room.

Nephelle was panting and clutching her chest. “Have this portal dismantled immediately. Whatever that it is on the other side of this portal does not belong in our world, Lord Theron.”

“Princess, are you alright?”

“Do not mind me. I am no longer the frail little princess, but I am also not a stupid little princess. Theron, I have a favor I have no right asking of you, but I require you to take this upon yourself for the good of our people.”

“Anything you ask of me shall be done.”

“Rule our people.”


	6. Chapter Six

“I decline,” Lor’themar stated simply. “Your father is the King; one without royal blood such as myself has no right to rule.” He walked over to the young princess and offered her his hand.

She grabbed it readily and he hoisted her up to her feet. “Yet rule you must, Theron.” Nephelle replied back looking into Lor’themar’s eyes with passion. “To hell with this monarchy that entrusts the fate of an entire race on nothing more than where you were born. You have seen what is on the other side of this portal, Theron.” Lor’themar shifted uncomfortably but did not respond.

Her eye contact did not waiver. “As I screamed in pure agony my father sat smiling. As one of our own lay dead at my feet he simply deemed him ‘too weak’. Tell me, Lord Reagent of Silvermoon, is that the man you want leading us? He has spent many long months away from home doing Gods know what, but whatever it was, that is no longer Kael’thas Sunstrider, the King of Silvermoon.”

“Would that not make you Queen?”

“They changed me out there, Theron. Before I realized my father was not my father, they changed me. Physically I feel no different, but I know I am not right. Before me he experimented on others. He is using our people as little more than fodder. As of this moment, Kael’thas Sunstrider is a traitor. The Sunstrider name has been disgraced. It can be none other than you, Theron, please.” Nephelle choked on the last words, tears threatening to spill over but she blinked them back. She grabbed both of Lor’themar’s hands and squeezed them tight.

“Lord Reagent, Princess, I have urgent news,” Lady Liadrin barged in, interrupting their conversation.

“Certainly it could not be any more important than the conversation we are currently holding, Liadrin,” Nephelle snapped.

“It’s about the Naaru his Majesty has captured,” she said excitedly.

Nephelle’s head whipped to Lor’themar incredulously. He tore his eyes away from hers and cast his eyes to the ground. “I am unfit to rule… but rule I shall. Liadrin, the Naaru?” He turned to the excited elf.

“We can siphon from it. By the Gods, Lor’themar, I felt the light again! The creature resisted for some time, but we have bent it to our will.” Her voice grew louder with excitement. “We don’t need the foul magic his Majesty is now dabbling in.”

“How… how could you do that to such a pure creature, Lady Liadrin?” Nephelle asked sadly, her voice disapproving.

  
“We do what we must to survive, Princess. I have seen to it the creature is well taken care of,” she assured the princess.

“Take me to it,” she demanded. Liadrin nodded her head and motioned for Nephelle to follow her. Behind them, Lor’themar began giving out orders to have the portal dismantled and headed for the command room to prepare for his new role.

The pair exited the throne room, but when Nephelle went to go to the exit, Liadrin moved to go further into the Palace. She narrowed her eyes in frustration, but picked up her pace to catch up to Liadrin. Liadrin lead her through the foyer and through the kitchens. There, they took a small hallway she was not familiar with. Together they walked up a spiral staircase in front of a grand room.

Blue silk draped across the door ways, leaving nothing hidden. Just beyond the silken veil was a creature that took her breath away. It floated in the middle of the circular room separated by golden railings and a deep drop. Shards of light with no uniform shape or size undulated and spun around what appeared to be the core of the creature. The core radiated the most light, but was the smallest part of the Naaru in the shape of a three pointed star. While Nephelle had only ever read of golden Naaru, this Naaru sported a soft blue hue.

It had no visible eyes or a mouth, yet it was emanating sad but beautiful music. The soft chimes caused Nephelle’s head to swim and her body to fill with warmth. The feeling wrapped her in a loving, motherly embrace. For a moment, the beautiful, sad music picked up its tempo as she too returned the embrace. She pulled herself out of the haze, sadly, and continued to inspect the room.

Two stair cases lined the walls, and at the bottom a small platform the Naaru was suspended above. At the top of the stair another platform lined the walls creating a walkway above the Naaru. Elves scrambled atop the platform as some of their Archmages began chanting. Barely visible magic slowly started flowing from the Naaru into the mages. The essence held a pinkish hue, and once it reached the Archmages, they cried out in ecstasy.

Potent magic filled the room, but to Nephelle, it felt sick and revolting. The music coming from the creature had once again become dissonant and distressing. Nephelle watched in horror as the creature shuttered under the siphoning of the mages.

“Behold, Princess, the key to our salvation! A font of endless holy energy!” Liadrin exclaimed.

“…alone,” Nephelle mumbled inaudibly.

“Excuse me, Princess?”

“I wish to siphon alone,” her voice boomed through the room and all siphoning came to an immediate halt. “I want all of you out! GET OUT!” The archmages regarded her cautiously. The Princess was known for her cheerful demeanor, none have ever heard her angry. They stood and stared at her, unmoving. “Did I fucking stutter?” She screeched.

In a panic, all of the elves scurried out of the chamber. Even Liadrin left without a word for fear of angering the princess further; a cloud of shame followed behind her. Nephelle waited until they were out of sight and leaped over the small golden barrier, clumsily landing on the platform.

She touched her cheek to one of the larger shards of light. “I am so, so sorry,” she whispered into the creature. A sharp chime tolled and echoed through the room. A small nova of pure holy energy burst from the Naaru, ejecting Nephelle from the platform and tumbling into the wall. She didn’t move, instead she hugged her knees to her chest, rested her chin on her knees and stared at the Naaru.

Nephelle sat in silence, listening to the sad lament of the Naaru while contemplating ways to liberate the creature. _Surely Theron will respect my last wishes as Princess_ , she thought to herself.

She stayed with the Naaru silently for a long time before standing up and brushing off her violet robes. “I hear them returning...” she turned to the Naaru with determination. “I shall be back tomorrow, whether you like it or not.” She left the circular room, pushing through her subjects and she sauntered passed them.

Rage welled up within her. She clenched her fists and jaw, silently cursing her Father for damning her people by subjugating such a pure creature. She cursed Liadrin for going through with it. She cursed Lor’themar for not putting a stop to it, but most of all, she cursed herself for not knowing.

Deciding a walk would clear her mind, Nephelle exited the palace and stopped at the entrance. She grimaced and stared at her faux lover still disgracing the sanctity of his honor. She walked over to it and slammed her fist into it roughly. “I am powerless again, Lirath. Even after I swore to you I would no longer be so.” She pounded the statue twice more, tears falling from her eyes. “And here I am crying again, Lirath, as I swore to you I would not.” She continued to punch the statue. “They’re damning the purest creature in existence and I am powerless to put an end to it.”

She directed all of her anger into the statue, her hands turning bloody as the skin scraped against the harsh stone. “I can’t even have this fake of you removed,” she screamed, throwing her fist back ready to heave her full weight into the blow. Her anger peaked as she drove her fist into the stone.

The statue exploded in a green fire; Fragments of the statue rained around her, cutting her skin and shredding her robes. Nephelle stood in shock as she observed the carnage. She held her injured hand in front of her face and gasped.

A strange green liquid oozed from her knuckles and splashed on the marble ground. The small splatters on the ground steamed as the pools melted away the marble. She wiped her hands on her robes quickly and inspected them again, confirming that the green liquid was in fact seeping from her. The areas she had wiped her hands on began decaying and burning away.

By now a crowd had been drawn to the palace. Liadrin and others came rushing out of the palace to her side. She motioned for them to stop and held her hand high to the crowd. Lor’themar stepped up behind her.

“See this and know that this is the end of the house Sunstrider,” she addressed the crowd. Her words were met with gasps and cries asking why. “My father, your _prince_ , no longer has your best interests at heart.” She grabbed a fragment from the statue and raked it down her arm where more green liquid oozed from the wound. “And this is what he has done to me. Let it be known that the great King Anasterian Sunstrider was Silvermoon’s final monarch. Lord Reagent Lor’themar Theron will hereby lead our people.” She dropped her hand and dashed into the palace, tears streaming down her cheeks.  
~ *** ~

As by her word, Nephelle visited the Naaru every day. At first she would sit in silence staring at the creature while its beautiful lament flowed through her weakening body, giving it a reprieve from the constant draining from the mages.

Since the destruction of Lirath’s statue, Nephelle’s body had begun to change. She became more frail with each passing day. Her flesh cracked revealing rivers of green goo, her fiery red hair streaked with green. The violet glow that once graced her eyes had turned into a smoldering green. Every breath was as labored as every movement.

Nephelle’s condition worsened as the time passed, but still she would visit the Naaru. In turn, Nephelle suspected that the Naaru was also looking forward to her visit. The once sad lament turned into a soft melancholy whenever she would enter the room.

“Such beautiful music, creature,” Nephelle wheezed and took up her normal place on the first stair sitting close to the Naaru. She leaned her head into the golden barrier and sighed.

“M’uru,” a musical voice touched the back of her mind. Nephelle’s eyes widened when she realized the voice came from the Naaru.

“You speak?” She exclaimed, yet nothing answered back. She smiled and began to hum along with M’uru’s melody. “M’uru it is,” she giggled.

The days continued on the same. Nephelle would visit M’uru and talk to the Naaru. She would tell it about her people’s history, about her past and even about her father and, the Naaru listened happily. Whenever she would enter the room M’uru would change the sad music into a peaceful soothing lull.

Until Nephelle stopped showing up every day. M’uru would wait for her to arrive but she would not. Days would pass before she would visit the Naaru again, looking more and more haggard each time and struggling just to walk into the chamber.

Nephelle did not speak as often. She would sit silently next to the Naaru and sleep. M’uru would create a soothing lullaby just for her. The Naaru had grown fond of the girl and it felt the need to save the girl.

“Siphon,” the Naaru chimed. Nephelle stirred for a moment before letting her body sag again. “Siphon,” the Narru chimed louder, this time fully stirring the girl.

“..’uru?” she croaked.

“You are dying.” Nephelle cringed at the words. “I don’t wish to see you die, friend. I have almost nothing left. Those elves have taken everything. I implore you; let me give the last of my essence willingly.”

Nephelle lifted her head to stare at the creature. “But then you will die.”

“By my own will,” the Naaru assured her. “Survive. Live!” it chimed.

Lirath’s final words washed over her; her oath at the forefront of her mind. She reached beyond the barrier and caressed the shards of light as they swirled passed. “Why,” she whispered the question. “Why me?”

“Day in and out my life essence is siphoned, painfully. Yet, every day you grant me a reprieve and gain nothing in turn. Even as you crave the essence within me, you abstain and have become my friend.”

Light flowed from the Naaru and directed itself at the former princess. The Light caressed her cracked skin, neatly suing it back together as it washed over. Her complexion lightened up and her skin turned soft. Her matted, brittle hair became fuller and brighter, and finally, she was able to stand on her own as the final waves of light ebbed away.

“The Fel scar is too deep,” M’uru chimed sadly. “But you will live on. Mother is always watching.”

“Thank you, M’uru,” she leaned over and kissed a shard of light.

Not a moment later, chaotic energies exploded from within the Naaru, turning it into a deep, dark purple. Thousands of screams radiated from the blackened Naaru as it cired out in agony. Music no longer emanated from the creature, instead it began to draw energies into itself. The once blue crystals fused together to form more jagged facets. Light seemed to be consumed by the creature itself, and the screams did not let up.

Liadrin was the first to arrive on the scene, staring incredulously at the once-Naaru. “What is that thing?!”

“M’uru,” Nephelle bellowed over the ear shattering screams. “The Naaru, it is dying. It told me it was dying before it died.” The Naaru’s death addles shook the room and bits of the walls began to crumble under the pressure. Crackles of dark magic began shooting throughout the room destroying whatever it touched.

Liadrin motioned for her Blood Knights to move to her as they all began casting holy magic. Archmages behind them began casting a portal above the Naaru while the Blood Knights kept the chaotic energies from lashing out. The dark tendrils of magic lashed out, cutting down three of Liadrin’s Blood Knights. The mages doubled down their efforts as the large portal began to consume the Naaru.

The creature’s screams became more desperate as the portal closed in. Nephelle could only watch in horror as the final pieces of the Naaru were consumed by the portal and the atmosphere around her settled.

“We had plans to move it to Sunwell Plateau already, it seems the creature wanted to speed us along. Nephelle, are you alright?”

The girl nodded and held out her perfectly healed arm. “Once again, powerless me is saved by another,” she grit her teeth. “M’uru gave me the last of its life essence to heal the scars that dark magic has brought upon me. The scars were too deep to dispose of completely but now… now I feel in control.”

As if to prove her words, she ignited her hand in a green fire and tossed it casually at the stairs. The stairs shattered and crumbled in a burning heap instantly; the fire quickly turning the steps to ash.

  
Liadrin smiled and held out her arms for a hug, but Nephelle swat her away. “You did this to M’uru. I do not know what fate awaits you after damning such a pure creature, but I dare say it will not be a kind one.”

Liadrin moved to confront Nephelle when the war horns blared across Silvermoon. The Blood Knights moved out without hesitation, but Liadrin paused for a moment. “I would speak with you again after this.”

Nephelle ignored her and touched her green tipped fingers to her eye. “M’uru also instilled quite a bit of knowledge to me as well.” She pulled her fingers away with a flourish and cloud of green smoke; when the smoke cleared a strange floating eyeball appeared. She flicked the eyeball and it shot through room and out to the courtyard in a blur.

“M’uru called it Gul’Dan’s grimoire. A record of Fel magic the orcs had been studying on the planet M’uru came from. They once worshipped M’uru as a deity and shared all of their knowledge with it. M’uru warned them of this magic’s dangers but they did not listen. They became too intoxicated by it.”

“But why were you given such knowledge,” Liadrin inquired.

“Because the magic my father infused me with on Outlands was Fel magic. The magic of demons themselves. It is maddening. Even now I feel it clawing against my mind, tempting me with more power.” She clenched her fist and opened her eye again. “This madness no doubt clawed at the weak heart of a man desperate to bring salvation to his people. My father likely fell to this madness, led to it like a dog by the one they call Illidan. It is likely that this desire for more power is what has brought him home,” she said darkly. “Kael’thas Sunstrider as returned home.” She ignited her hand once again. “Let us give him a warm welcome.”


	7. Chapter 7

The girl tapped the bottom of her foot twice with her ignited palm, sprouting a weak flame jetting from her sole. Tentatively, she lowered her foot to the ground to bring the other foot up. As she lifted the opposite foot, the flames sputtered from the first and sent her flittering about the room. Liadrin watched on with ill-hidden amusement.

 

            “Knowledge is nothing without knowing how to apply it,” Liadrin said.

 

            “Silence,” Nephelle quipped. She managed to tap her free foot, applying the flames, and planted both feet firmly on the ground. “Forgive me, I have been frail and barely alive for many months now,” she said sarcastically.

 

            “What are you planning?” Liadrin asked accusingly.

 

            “I plan to take my father out of the battle,” she stated simply.

 

            “You will die.”

 

            “I may, or I may not,” she sighed and began casting a small, purple twirling rune in her palm. Liadrin opened her mouth to protest once again but the girl had already taken off at an unnatural speed. She dispelled the flames beneath her feet as she approached the gates with a crowd gathered before them.  
  
            Nephelle glanced over the small crowd of elves clad in Farstrider battle armor from a distance. Many of them looked as though they had never held a weapon, and she was sure many of them never have. They are forced to fight for what tatters of their homes and lives are left. Nephelle wondered how many would have to face their own loved ones in battle today. She wondered how many would simply give in.

 

            “Driven to near extinction and we find ourselves having to slaughter our own people,” Nephelle said bitterly. “He prayed upon the affection our people held for him and turned them into monsters. Yet still, I am conflicted, unable to simply massacre them all yet unable to allow them to destroy what little we have left.”

 

            “Morality shall be our bigger problem, Princess,” Liadrin responded.

 

            “Nephelle, Lady Liadrin.” She gestured to herself. “What kind of morale boost would having such a princess be?”  


            Liadrin stayed silent. She knew Nephelle was right but wished she wasn’t.

 

            “The little demonic wretch has completed their assignment. They have laid my rune many leagues from here.”

 

            “Nephelle, _listen to me_ ,” the blood knight pleaded. “Your power is immense but you are no match for your father!”

 

            “I am well aware.”

 

            “Then why? This is suicide.”

 

            “If we cannot remove him from the fray, all is lost. He will tear through our inexperience faster than Arthas razed our cities. You know as well as I how powerful Kael’thas is,” Nephelle replied darkly. She turned her eyes to Liadrin and softened her gaze. “You have always been a loyal friend to the Sunstrider family, a loyal friend to _me_. I trust no matter the outcome of this battle, your loyalties will not fail Silvermoon.”

 

            She walked away from Liadrin before waiting for a reply. Her heart felt as though it would rip through her chest. Nephelle walked slowly toward the gates of Silvermoon, appreciating every detail of her home. The masons had repaired much already, but there was far more damage than they had the resources to remedy.

 

            She dropped her head as she passed through the armed crowd before the gates. The gazes cast in her direction were not kind ones. She raised her palm and the beginnings of a purple rune began to form, rotating in her hand. Nervous whispers surrounded her; no matter how hard she tried to ignore them, she could not.

 

            _Traitor. Fel-scum. She will turn on us as her father has. Sunstriders no longer belong in Silvermoon. Monster. Mutant. Demon-fucker._ The whispers grew louder and Nephelle walked faster. She kept her eyes focused upon the approaching army in the distance and steeled her determination.

 

            She crushed the purple rune within her hand and sprang forth a small, bat-like, demon. The demon screeched in pain as she began to burn a green-glowing rune onto its scaly skin. She stroked its ridged forehead and tossed it to the sky. The beast hovered far above her head, but did not stray.

 

            From behind her, an arm reached and grasped her. She furrowed her brow and turned to face Lor’themar with a bitter sadness. He returned the look and guided her away from the crowd.

 

            “Will you require a mount?” He inquired.

 

            She shook her head in response. “I have means of my own to travel. Precious resources such as mounts will not be wasted upon me… Besides, what could satisfy me besides Sunwalker?” She smiled warmly at the name of her beloved Hawkstrider.

 

            “You speak as though you intend not to return.”

 

            “Do I?”

 

            Lor’themar turned his back to her. “You have a clear pathway if you take the trail within the trees. I have no doubt Kael will plan to meet you before his army. You are still his Sun, after all.”

“My plan depends upon it,” she stated simply. “I shall take my leave. If I hesitate any longer I fear I may not be able to follow through. Take care of the Sin’dorei, Lor’themar.” She surprised the elder elf with a warm hug.

 

            “You shall always be my Princess, Princess,” He teased softly and returned the hug. Nephelle squeezed one last time before turning and exiting the gates of Silvermoon. She ignited the soles of her feet and took off into a sprint. Her feet singed the ground as she moved at a blinding speed through the forest. Above her still, the small bat-like demon still followed.

 

            She reached the edge of the forest and stepped out into the clearing and waited. The army was frighteningly close to Silvermoon; the conflict would soon begin. Nephelle scanned the front lines in hopes of catching her father quickly. It did not take long for her eyes to fall upon Kael’thas. He had adorned the keys to the elf gates upon his shoulders. The three viridian spheres glowed brightly, identifying him easily among the crowd.

 

            Nephelle drew in a deep breath and readied herself. “KAEL’THAS SUNSTRIDER, TRAITOR TO THE SIN’DOREI, FACE ME,” she bellowed into the distance. The archers of the front lines nocked their arrows and aimed in her direction; she did not move. Kael’thas held up his hand to halt the archers and set off in her direction.

 

            Nephelle sprang into action; she raised her hand to the sky and brought it down, pointing to a position just behind her father. The demon that was still following her dove to the designated target and slammed into the ground, destroying its own body. From the carnage two, curved, spires broke through the ground, meeting at the top into a half circle. Green energies clouded the space between the spires. Nephelle broke into a fire-charged sprint directly at her father.

 

            Kael’thas held his arms out wide. “My precious, precious Sun! You have returned to me. Together we will rid this world of all corruption; the Sin’dorei will want for nothing. Our power will be unmatched. I cannot express the happiness in my heart that the ritual was a success. With this power, even Lira-“

 

            Nephelle slammed into her father full force. The pair tumbled falling through the green energies of the fel-gate and through to the other side, falling out of an identical fel-gate. “His name is too good for your twisted lips, Kael’thas,” she spat. She quickly teleported to another green rune near-by, laid by one of her bat-like demons. Fire sprang from both of her palms as she brought her hands together. The fires combined and she propelled them forward, destroying the fel-gate and their way back home.

 

            Kael’thas scanned his surroundings and began to clap gleefully. “My Sun! You have taken us quite far from Silvermoon. Papa is so proud of you, but I must inquire… why are we so far from our army?”

 

            “ _Your_ army,” she retorted.

 

            “But… you are my Sun.” Kael’s face fell in angry confusion.

 

            Nephelle threw her arms open. She began to twirl her left wrist and before their eyes, green, fiery, magic began to wrap around her wrist like a ribbon. She mimicked this gesture with her right as black, shadowy, magic adorned her wrist. “ _The Sun has set and night has fallen_.” She slammed her hands together and the two magics went to war. They clashed against one another chaotically with a thirst for destruction. “Your Sun died the moment you perverted my body with this foul magic!” she screamed and hurled the chaotic energy forward.

 

            Kael’thas stared in disbelief as the spell hit him squarely in the chest, knocking him hard to the ground. Just as quickly as he fell, Kael’thas picked himself up from the ground and brushed off the ash from his robes. Nephelle mirrored her father’s disbelief.

 

            “You… you really intended to kill me?” Kael let the words out slowly.

 

            “As I still do,” she hissed as she pulled the spell together once again, forcing more power into it than the last. She hurled the spell with all of her might.

 

            “Foolish girl. You are not my Sun! An imposter. An imposter. IMPOSTER!” Kael screamed furiously. “Where is she? Where is she? WHERE IS SHE?” Kael took a stance all too familiar to Nephelle after easily dodging her spell. She had once watched her father rip a man’s limbs from his body with this stance. The memory had haunted her for many years after.

 

 Magic ebbed and flowed violently around them as Kael began to manipulate it. She did not wait for the spell to finish casting, instead she threw her hand to the sky and brought it down parallel to the ground. Small boulders coated in fire began raining upon Kael but did not stop his spell-weaving.

 

Her arm fought against its socket as Kael’s spell began nearing completion. She wrapped her arms around herself in a vain attempt to keep the spell from working. Her muscles and tendons screamed at the tension as she tried to focus a magical barrier around herself. The panic set in as the shield was disintegrated before she could fully erect it. She cried out in pain as her shoulder dislocated. _‘They were right. I am going to die here._

 

“Let us assist you, daughter of the light,” a voice rumbled at the back of her mind. She whipped her head around and found nothing. She crashed to the ground and whimpered in pain as her hip dislocated as well. “You have the means, use them.” The voice went silent after that, but the impression did not leave her mind. The voice had brought her to the edge of an unlimited power her willpower could not deny.

 

Nephelle forced herself back onto her feet and threw her good arm forward, as if to grab onto Kael’thas. She slipped her reach into the vast, dark, magic the voice had drawn her too. Ecstasy filled her veins as a weak stream of energy swimming to her hand. She resisted the urge to cry out as she willed the stream to be stronger.

 

Kael’s spell-weaving came to a halt as his balance faltered. Sickening cracks echoed from Nephelle’s body as her limbs and joints popped back into place. “Writhe… in AGONY!” she bellowed, her voice accompanied by many.

 

Kael dropped to the ground moaning and grunting in pain. “Your life, to become mine,” she chanted with the voices. Kael grunted again and Nephelle sighed in relief as more of her minor injuries vanished. “The affliction of your existence becomes unstable.” Kael writhed as she had predicted. “The corruption you spread returns to haunt you.” Kael cried out; Nephelle giggled gleefully. “ _Your soul is mine_ ,” she whispered in voices that were no longer her own as tendrils of dark purple matter came gushing forth from Kael’s body.

 

The tendrils touched her fingers and Nephelle gasped as Kael’s memories flew through her mind like a slide show. Her first steps, her first words even the first time she used magic played through her mind. Every memory was drenched in love from her father.

 

Nephelle retracted her magic and stared at the heap on the ground that was Kael’thas unable to finish him off. Her heart squeezed tightly with grief as Kael continued to repeat that she was an imposter. Victory horns blared loudly from Silvermoon. “You failed, father. The Sin’dorei prevails once again.”


	8. Chapter 8

_“Do not think me so easily defeated, wretch,”_ Kael’thas hissed as he swept Nephelle’s feet from beneath her with his magic.

 

“Fool! Do you not hear the horns of your defeat? The victory of the Sin’dorei!” she yelled back at him, picking herself up off the ground.

 

“My army _is_ Sin’dorei,” Kael taunted. Images of Liadrin and Lor’themar’s lifeless bodies flickered across her mind but she suppressed them. “That magic you used… You call my master’s magic foul?!”

 

Nephelle growled and threw a bolt of energy so dark, it looked as though it was consuming the light around it. The bolt grazed the elder elf’s cheek and he hissed as it burned his flesh. “Master Illidan this, Master Illidan that. You’re nothing more than a puppet, _father_ ,” she spat at him.

 

Kael let out a mocking laugh. “Illidan? Illidan?! I serve a new master. One who will lay ash to the cosmos! The grand leader of the burning Legion. _Kil'Jaeden_.”

 

Nephelle’s skin crawled at the name, though she did not recognize it. “You… serve the legion?!” Anger clawed at her gut as she began casting a larger bolt of the dark energy. She was almost ready to cast when a giant pillar of fire spawned beneath her and engulfed the space around her. Her cries of agony echoed across the clearing and through the trees. The smell of burning flesh and hair saturated the smoke that began filling her lungs.

 

The walls of flame surrounding her disappeared suddenly, though the pain did not recede. Her strength vanished and she collapsed in the dirt and ash. “You may be an imposter, but you share her face. I cannot kill my own Sun,” Kael’thas said sadly. He casted a teleportation spell and vanished before her eyes.

 

“N-no,” she wheezed. “Save… them… Everyone… I failed.” She reached forward and dug her fingers into the dirt to drag herself. Each drag was more excruciating than the last. The burned and melted flesh peeled away. The dirt was soaked with her blood as her exposed muscles tore and ripped against the friction of her crawl. Her fingernails, unable to bare the stress, peeled off into the dirt as she dug them deeply into the ground. Her strength failed her and she could no longer crawl to save her people.

 

Thoughts of Lirath filled her mind as her consciousness began to fade. Illusions of his form swam across her eyes and she accepted them as reality. _‘Ah, my love. I have failed you as well, have I not? No matter. Such trivialities were never meant for a Princess such as I. You have come to take me with you, so take me.’_ Illusion-Lirath shook his head and pointed in the direction of Silvermoon. He mouthed the word _live_ before disappearing.

 

The sound of a horse’s gait echoed not far from where she laid. She struggled to maintain consciousness as the rider dismounted before her and rushed to her side.

 

“Nephelle? _Nephelle!_ Gods, no. No, hold on, to Silvermoon we go.” She felt her body being heaved up and secured to the horse’s saddle. The horse soon came to a halt and the rider jumped from the saddle. “A healer! I need a healer. Someone, anyone!”

 

A familiar tickle probed the back of her mind. “Consume; lots to consume. All you have to do is consume. Ease your pain. Consume.” Nephelle slid clumsily off the horse and staggered her way toward the gates. Her eyes had been badly damaged in the flames, but she saw the world surrounding her through the eyes of the voices in her head.

 

The ground outside of the gates of Silvermoon was littered with bodies of Sin’dorei. Many of them she recognized as the frightened citizens forced to go to war. Even more of the bodies belonged to Kael’s fel-Sin’dorei. Her lips pulled up into a small smile. She raised her arms over the piles of bodies and gave into the voices’ demands.

 

Tendrils of green energy began flowing from each body, indiscriminately, leading to the wounded elf. Relief washed over her as the green tendrils began caressing the exposed muscles, warping into skin to replace the missing flesh. Onlookers stared in horror as the bodies mummified after the tendrils faded away.

 

Nephelle threw back her head and let out a crazed laugh. “Wonderful… Wonderful,” she moaned.

 

Liadrin came charging at her and grasped on to her shoulders. “ _What the hell are you doing?”_

 

Nephelle cackled and giggled. “They are all dead, are they not? I do not see a problem here.” She jerked her hands away, laid her hand upon Liadrin’s breastplate and shot her back. “Do not interrupt me.”

 

Liadrin glared at her menacingly. “That is no longer Fel magic you are dancing with, Nephelle. I implore you; do not dive further into those depths.”

 

Nephelle replied with another crazed laugh and willed a green tendril from Liadrin as well; one much larger than the ones attached to the bodies of the fallen. “Ah, as I thought, the dead cannot sate this hunger.” She greedily pulled in the tendrils faster. Liadrin flung her shield at Nephelle, grunting at the effort but successfully staggering her.

 

“How dare you desecrate the dead.”

 

“They are _dead_ ,” Nephelle emphasized. “I am quite sure they would be pleased to serve their princess in death.”

 

Grief colored Liadrin’s face. The crowd of survivors chattered uneasily; fear quickly spread among them. “You saved us from your father, do not make me do this.” Nephelle shot Liadrin a knowing smile; Liadrin’s face contorted in anger and pain. She wanted this.

 

“I, Lady Liadrin, Matron of the Blood Knights, hereby sentence you to death. May the Light bless you on your final journey.” Liadrin readied her blade and promptly lowered it. “We would have fallen today, if not for you. For that, you live another day, but know this, we will never stop hunting you.” She turned her back to Nephelle to face the crowd. “A bounty shall be placed upon the traitor’s head. Bring it to me, and you shall never want for anything.”

 

“Glory to the Sin’dorei,” Nephelle whispered for Liadrin’s ears only.

 

“For the Sunwell,” Liadrin returned the gesture.

 

A large purple rune spawned beneath Nephelle, and from it, rose a steed whose mane and tail was made of fire. Flames flickered where its eyes would have been. She patted the horse’s scale coat and mounted it. She urged the horse south and quickly left Silvermoon in the distance.

 

The hunger panged her gut once again. She had not been honest with Liadrin; she had felt her sanity slipping away as she siphoned what energy was left from the bodies. _‘It was simply the delirium from the pain,”_ she tried to convince herself. _‘Were I not at death’s door, I would not have committed such an act.”_

 

“Liar,” the voices tickled her mind once again.


End file.
